


"Mind if I slither over, watch you eat cake?"

by whiteacre



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a bastard, Discussed Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Food Porn, Gay Sex, I apologise for ruining pumpkin pie, Just after the lockdown event, M/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Smut, completely inappropriate use of cupcakes, crowley is an idiot, don’t do this with cake, good omens - Freeform, implyed consent, ineffable husbands, some liberties were taken with the concept of cupcakes, you will get an infection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteacre/pseuds/whiteacre
Summary: Crowley has a plan to embarrass his angel, but Aziraphale is not as innocent as he thinks. Takes place after the phone call in the lockdown segment.
Relationships: Ineffable Husbands - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	"Mind if I slither over, watch you eat cake?"

Crowley was sleeping deeply, head under the covers, a swath of tangled red hair and one foot the only parts of him visible. From across the room his phone alarm went off, a Hellish shriek designed to get him on his feet and to the phone as quickly as possible. He thumbed the alarm off, sat on his bed, and shouted, “Fuck”, to his empty apartment. He started each morning this way.  
Why was he awake now? Oh, right, it must be July. A quick look at his phone told him that it was, in fact, July, and that the lockdown was still, in fact, in place. What was he going to do now? He thought back to the last conversation he had with his angel, for him, just last night, for his angel, several months ago now. What was that he had asked him? “Mind if I slither over, watch you eat cake?” Someone knows that was one of Crowley’s favorite pastimes before the pandemic. True, Aziraphale had told him not to come, but what the hell was he, an aardvark! He was a demon, and he wasn’t going to let some ponsey angel tell him what to do! Crowley snapped his fingers, and miracled into black jeans, a black dress shirt and jacket. His hair stayed down, but became a well-cared-for river tumbling down his back. He swaggered into the kitchen.  
He knew what he’d do now. He wouldn’t just give Aziraphale cupcakes. He would present them. And in such a way as to make that angel’s prudish head explode. Nothing was better than seeing his angel blush. If Crowley was lucky he would make a strangled cry and run out of the bookshop entirely.  
Now Crowley could make a decent curry, if he had someone to show off for, but he knew high-quality baked goods were beyond his comfort level. And the angel was right, all the cafes were closed. But surely a demonic miracle should be up to that.  
And a normal miracle wouldn’t be good enough. He had to make sure they were recipes from some of Aziraphale’s favorite shops, and since they lived in London, that was truy world-class. So he miracled up Aziraphale’s favorite, a small, round, strawberry cheesecake from the Ritz, with a pile of glistening glazed strawberries in the middle, edged with whipped cream frosting. Then, from Aziraphale’s favorite local shop, Crumbs and Doilies, appeared a small chocolate caramel turtle cake, drizzled with warm fudge and caramel, and a black forest cupcake with cherries dripping off the top. One more cupcake. Crowley stood with his fingernails against his teeth and pondered. Oh yes. They had gone to Madam Tracy’s last Christmas and Aziraphale had fallen for Tracy’s families’ pumpkin pie. So Crowley created one. A one-serving pumpkin pie with apple compote and whipped cream. Everything looked perfect. Just gooey and luscious enough. Crowley put them all in a box, and tied it with a golden bow. He was ready. Crowley snapped his fingers, and disappeared.  
He reappeared inside Aziraphale’s bookshop, by the door, so as not to startle him too badly, holding the box of cupcakes behind his back. Aziraphale came hurrying up from the backroom, with an affronted expression on his face.  
“What?” he said. “No! We are closed!”  
When he saw Crowley, he stopped his forward march and said, “Crowley! What’s wrong?”  
“Nothing, angel. But it’s July. I thought I’d stop by. And I didn’t even infect anyone on the way over. I brought you something.”  
Crowley displayed the box with a little flourish of his other hand. (He’s a demon with style.)  
There’s that smile he loved. The one that curled up on both ends and made him warm down to his toes. But he jerked the box away.  
“No, no angel. This one needs special preparation. Let’s go in the back.”  
He led the way into the backroom, with his angel, wearing an indulgent smile, trailing behind him.  
They got inside the small room, and Crowley closed the curtain with a snap.  
He said, “Aziraphale, I want to prepare a treat for you. Stay here by the door, and close your eyes.” Aziraphale did so. He even covered his eyes with his hands.  
Hurry now. Crowley went to the other side of the room, near the fireplace and moved the coffee table so there would be plenty of room. He put the box down and opened it. All the cupcakes were accounted for. He snapped his fingers and sent his clothes to wherever in Hell they came from. Naked, he lay down, his feet towards the door, and carefully positioned the dripping cupcakes on his body. The cheesecake just over his right nipple, the chocolate caramel on his left, the black forest cake above his belly button and the pumpkin pie barely touching his quiescent cock. (This was just a joke, right?) Finally, he took off his glasses. Perfect. He lifted his head up, to make sure he could see Aziraphale’s face when he turned around and said, “Ready angel!”  
Aziraphale dropped his hands and opened his eyes. But he didn’t move. Very slowly, he blinked. He didn’t yelp and leave the room, he just made a low moan and started walking deliberately towards Crowley, holding his eyes the whole time. Where was his innocent angel? Aziraphale seemed very calm, and sure, and … wanting.  
Aziraphale walked up to Crowley and knelt by his right side. Finally, he spoke. “What do you want?”  
Crowley could only respond in a whisper. “I want to watch you eat cake.”  
“Ok.” Aziraphale said. He scooped up a finger of strawberries and cream and put it in his mouth. Then he leaned down and grabbed a handful of Crowley’s long hair, pulling his head back and kissed him. Crowley tasted strawberries, and sugar, and, Oh Someone! Where did Aziraphale learn to kiss like that?  
And that was when Crowley realized he was in big trouble.

Aziraphale eventually pulled away, breathing hard and eyes dark. He started to run a finger down Crowley’s body, circling the cakes and stroking down his stomach.  
“You are quite right, my dear,” he said. “This is quite special. This is quite a treat, and all for me. And I know this one,” he said, gesturing to the cheesecake. “This is from the Ritz. But it’s closed. So you must have done it.”  
Aziraphale took two fingers and dipped them into the cheesecake, digging out the filling. He then put them into his mouth and sucked. He closed his eyes, and slid his fingers in and out of his mouth. Then he picked the cheesecake up and licked the side, scattering crumbs all over Crowley’s chest.  
Crowley watched him eat the cheesecake with wide eyes. He couldn’t look away. That rosebud mouth covered in crumbs, pink tongue licking lavisciously over his lips, and the sounds of pure pleasure coming from deep in his throat.  
Aziraphale finished the cheesecake and started on the turtle cake.  
“Oh, this is a messy one.” He said, as he moved the cake to find a dollop of caramel had pooled around Crowley’s left nipple. He slowly licked around the nipple until he could suck it clean.  
“Oh, Satan!” This was more than Crowley could stand. He’d been trying to maintain some semblance of control, but this was too much. He felt his groin get hot as blood rushed to his cock until its tip swayed in the whipped cream just above it.  
Aziraphale sat up at the outburst. He saw Crowley’s cock, long and hot and hard. Aziraphale said, “Oh darling, you’re beautiful! I would quite like to taste you as well.” He took a finger and stroked it up the underside of Crowley’s cock. “Would you like that?”  
“Yes,” Crowley managed, through gritted teeth.  
“That’ll have to wait. Can’t rush the main course.” Aziraphale went back to his turtle cake.  
He finished and sat back on his heels and sighed. Then, the poncey bastard miracled a lace napkin and dapped at his lips, the perfect British angel finishing a snack next to a crumb-covered, naked demon.  
He looked down at the two remaining cupcakes, the black forest and the pumpkin pie.  
“Those do look messy. I might have to get out of this.”  
He gestured at his immaculate beige suite and tartan tie.  
He glanced over at Crowley, and said, “Don’t move, darling” as if Crowley could imagine doing anything else.  
He stood up and snapped his fingers. His clothes vanished. Crowley had never seen Aziraphale naked before and he couldn’t look away. Soft, alabaster skin, stronger shoulders and thighs then Crowley had suspected, with a hint of plush around the middle. And the most magnificent cock Crowley had ever seen. Thicker than his own, though just as long, it curved out from a thatch of white blond hair almost as high as his belly button.  
“Now,” Aziraphale said, “Let’s continue.”  
He walked around and knelt at Crowley’s feet. He held on to Crowley’s thighs, spread his legs apart, and knelt between them. He leaned forward, holding Crowley’s legs in place with wide hands. Satan! How did Crowley not know Aziraphale was so strong? He seemed so soft and pudgy with his normal layers on, but now Crowley’s lower half was completely pinned down and he couldn’t look away from those piercing blue eyes as Aziraphale loomed over him.  
Eyes still locked on Crowley’s, Aziraphale leaned forward and started to lick up the cherries on the black forest cake, with each lick rubbing his soft stomach against the length of Crowley’s cock. Crowley gasped and arched his hips up into the soft curls on Aziraphale’s belly.  
Aziraphale wasn’t being subtle now. He took large bites of the chocolate cake, frosting and chocolate flakes coating his lips. Then he jumped up, knocked the cake aside, and straddled Crowley’s chest. He put his hands on both sides of Crowley’s face, and kissed him, hard and deep.  
Cake was in Crowley’s mouth, in his hair, in his eyelashes, smeared across his face. But all he could taste was Aziraphale; sweet and spicy, with a hint of vanilla, even after all the chocolate.  
Aziraphale pulled back and took a deep, shuddering breath.  
“I need to taste you,” he said. “Right now.”  
Miraculously, probably one of Aziraphale’s, the pumpkin pie had stayed where it was perchered, in Crowley’s nest of red curls. Aziraphale started at the base of Crowley’s cock and licked it, pushing it down into the pie as he did so. So many flavors met his lips, apple and cool pumpkin, whipped cream and cinnamon, all mixed up with the flavors from Crowley’s hot cock, salt, and pine, and musk.  
Aziraphale kept licking until the pie pan was empty and the cock was throbbing. Then he wrapped his lips around the head and swallowed the whole thing down, pumping the base with one hand while working his own erection with the other.  
Aziraphale’s mouth was good at its job, and soon Aziraphale heard a high-pitched cry above his head and …. Yes. The essence of Crowley. Smooth and warm and salty with a tang at the back of his throat after he swallowed.  
The taste of Crowley’s cum brought Aziraphale to his own climax. He spent, long and hot, over Crowley’s stomach and chest. Then he collapsed nuzzling into Crowley’s elegant neck. Crowley rested his chin on Aziraphale’s curls and neither of them moved for a long time.  
After what felt like 6,000 years, Aziraphale opened his eyes and snapped his fingers. The entire mess that coated both of them, cake, frosting, cherries, and cum, vanished. Aziraphale captured Crowley’s chin and pulled it down for a kiss. Then he said,  
“So, are you coming over tomorrow?”

**Author's Note:**

> All thanks to artist Cheryl Tortorici for drawing a picture of Crowley with a shirt that said, “If you like my pumpkins, you should see my pie,” that was the inspiration for this fic. I know the inspiration was entirely accidental and that this whole mess is really my fault.


End file.
